Delene debated giving the older woman one of her cards. After all, she wasn’t here regarding the homicide, not directly at any rate. But she knew what Cavanaugh and his partner were thinking. If alerted, Kathy/Serena might just bolt. She might just figure into Clyde’s murder.
Even if she didn’t, given the nature of her background, it wasn’t out of the question to assume that the mother of Clyde’s child wouldn’t want to have anything to do with the police.
“Why don’t you give me a call on my cell after she gets home?” Delene suggested, digging into her pocket and pulling out a small white card.
Just as Delene had hoped, the babysitter looked quite pleased to be included in this inner circle. Like a minor, comical character from some old grade-B movie, Louise tucked the card into her bra. Her ample bosom absorbed it, hiding all traces.
“I’ll just do that,” she promised.
***
“Think she’ll call?” Kara asked as they walked away from the room less than three minutes later.
“Good chance.” Delene knew that being in the middle of this little drama fed some inner need within the woman. She could remember feeling that way herself. A long time ago.
She looked at Troy as they came to the stairwell. “What do you think the odds are that she won’t say anything to Kathy about you two coming around to ‘talk to her’ about a homicide?”
“Not so favorable,” was his guess. He went down first, followed by Kara. Delene brought up the rear. “That woman was born to talk.”
Delene came to the landing. The superintendent was still pushing around the already filthy mop. “That’s why I tried to make her feel like she was in this with us.”
He’d picked up on that. “Yeah, I noticed. Good thought.” Once they were outside the building, he looked at Kara. “I’m going to get a uniform out here, have him watch the place to see if the girlfriend bolts once she gets wind that we’re looking to talk to her.” As he took out his cell phone to make the call, Delene began to back away. He looked in her direction. “See you later,” he said, lowering his voice just a tad.
She felt something tightening inside her again. With all that was going down, she had thought that perhaps her invitation would be pushed to the side. But it wasn’t. There was something different, something intimate, for lack of a better word, in his eyes when he’d said he’d see her later. It was all she could do to bank down the shiver that slid down her back.
“Right,” she murmured, feeling as if her tongue were tripping over her teeth. “Seven.”
“Seven,” he repeated, although he was certain that Delene didn’t hear him. She was too far away. And moving fast.
Kara got into his face, the picture of curiosity. “What was that all about?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said quite honestly. And then he grinned at her. “But you’ll be the first to find out when I do.”
Kara’s answer to him as she got into her car was far from G-rated. Troy tried not to laugh as he got into his own.
***
That evening, as she walked through the ground floor double glass doors leading out of the building, Delene could feel a thousand nerve endings flaring inside her. Added to that, she had that same sensation dancing through her that she’d had every time she left the house back when she had been Russell’s wife.
Like someone was watching her.
Just your nerves, Dee. That’s all. Nobody’s watching you.
But she remained on the steps of the building, slowly scanning the area that had slipped into twilight a few minutes earlier. The parking lot was still half-full, cars belonging to people who hadn’t, for one reason or another, managed to extricate themselves from their work and their desks.
Could someone be sitting in one of the vehicles now, watching her? Keeping tabs on her in order to report back to Russell?
There was no way she could be sure. She certainly wasn’t about to go running up and down the rows of cars, peering into each to see whether or not they were unoccupied.
Nobody was wasting their time, watching her. Not for any reason. She sincerely doubted that Miguel Mendoza felt angry enough to spend the man power just so she could feel unnerved.
No, one Detective Troy Cavanaugh was the reason why her imagination was running away with itself. Ever since he’d come on the scene, she really hadn’t been herself.
Herself.
And just who might that be, Dee?
Just who was she these days? That scared, easily impressed young rabbit she was back then when she’d let herself be bought for a kind word, for a promise of happily-ever-after? Or was she the tough-as-nails person she was pretending to be? That’s all it was, just an act. She wasn’t any tougher these days than she was then. She just knew how to flip a guy twice her size now, that’s all.
Well, it was a start, she told herself as she tried to bolster her self-esteem.
Thinking about what would happen later had put her off her game. She was antsy.
She needed to get this evening behind her.
Her mouth curved as she got into her car and turned on the headlights. She was dragging her feet, even though what lay ahead was all her fault.
She wondered if the miller’s daughter in Rumpel-stiltskin had felt the same sort of dread she did, locked up in a room full of straw and told to spin it all into gold by morning or face certain death.
Turning the wheel, she left the parking lot. She had a hunch she’d feel better about facing that task instead of the one she’d chosen for herself. Delene frowned as a song on the radio came on. Peggy Lee’s classic rendition of “Fever.” Not what she needed to hear tonight.
She hit a button, switching to another radio station. The second she made her choice, the music stopped registering and faded into the background.
Nobody to blame for this but yourself, Dee. You can still call it off, you know. He’s not a stalker, he won’t come banging on your door, saying things about you leading him on.
Do it.
She looked at the purse she’d thrown on the passenger seat. It leaned over drunkenly.
Tempting…
No, damn it, she was an adult and she’d decided to do this, to sleep with Cavanaugh, for a reason. To prove to herself that after five years, her body was just seeking reaffirmation. This was just a simple, basic urge that had crept over her, nothing more.
Just a simple sexual urge, she silently insisted. Once it was satisfied, she’d be good to go for another five years. Hopefully longer.
The glint of a headlight flashed into her rearview mirror, momentarily blinding her. Alerting her. Delene angled the mirror so that the light was no longer reflecting into her eyes.
Even as she did so, she tried to discern the make and model of the vehicle behind her. While she couldn’t see if it was black or navy, she could easily discern that the car was a sedan.
An American car, she suddenly realized. She’d seen it recently in a magazine advertisement. Was the driver following her? Had he been there the whole time?
The next moment, the car made a left turn at the light. It wasn’t behind her any longer.
As she drove on down the next street, Delene sighed. Relief bathed her. She was definitely getting too paranoid. She needed to get away.
Get away and do what? Spend the time worrying about Russell popping up? Better that she continue working and filling her days and nights with the myriad details that were part and parcel of her job.
And what about tonight? Just what kind of heading does that come under?
Facing your demons, Delene decided. And then she smiled again. She doubted very much if Troy Cavanaugh had ever been described by anyone, living or dead, as a demon.
***
It was just after six when she walked into her apartment. The light was on, just as she’d left it. After kicking off her shoes, she dropped her purse beside them.
Even though she could see almost the entire loft from where she stood at the front door, Delene went through h
er usual routine, first checking the locks on the windows to see if they had been tampered with.
Then she opened the top drawer in her bureau and took out the ruler she kept there. She measured the distance between the neat pile of underwear and the front of the drawer. It was a trick she’d picked up watching an old episode of a detective series on the Classic Channel.
The distance was exactly eleven inches. Just the way she’d left it. No one had been here today.
“Okay, nobody invaded your space while you were gone. What about the guy you invited to invade your space tonight?” she muttered under her breath as she shed her uniform.
Her skin insisted on tingling as she thought of the upcoming few hours.
She was doing this on her terms, her turf. That gave her the upper hand. Which, in turn, should have made her feel better.
It didn’t.
Opening her closet, Delene automatically began to reach for the jeans and the baggy T-shirt she normally changed into, then stopped. She didn’t want to look like something the cat had dragged in. The pride she had so carefully rebuilt and nurtured back to life these past five years dictated that she look at least a little desirable tonight.
Standing before her closet, considering her options, she chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. There wasn’t exactly a wealth of clothing to choose from.
Not like the closet she’d had when she’d been married to Russell. He’d insisted that his wife wear clothes that reflected their position in the organization. Just one of her old gowns cost more than the entire wardrobe she was looking at now.
None of the wealth had brought her happiness, she thought.
Finally she took out a very simple, very basic, black dress. She’d worn the long-sleeved dress to the last department Christmas party. And the one before that, she recalled. It was functional and just dressy enough.
“What the well-dressed woman is wearing to her own seduction tonight,” Delene uttered aloud.
Once she laid out the dress on her bed, she took out a pair of black, backless four-inch heels to complete the outfit. She put the shoes by the foot of the bed, then entered the bathroom to shower and reapply her makeup.
There was a time she would have fussed with her hair, maybe wearing it up with soft tendrils framing her face. But there was really nothing to fuss with now. She looked into the mirror and shook her head.
She missed her hair.
It had been long, thick and full. Several shades darker than what it was now. Her hair had been dark blond with reddish highlights when she’d taken her vows. Everyone had remarked how she’d looked a little like a gypsy. Russell enjoyed playing with it. He had once said her hair was the first thing he’d noticed about her.
So when she’d escaped she’d cut it off until the longest part didn’t even extend as far as her chin. She’d straightened what was left, then dyed it the lightest shade of blond she could find. Platinum. If anyone looked her way, she came across as just another California blonde. The last thing she wanted was to be noticeable.
But just for tonight, she wanted to feel pretty again, Delene thought as she stepped out of the bathroom and picked up the dress she’d selected. How long since she’d felt pretty? Since she’d wanted to really feel pretty? She couldn’t remember that far back.
Because she was going through these motions, it wouldn’t really hurt anything to go a couple of steps further. After all, she didn’t want the bright young police detective with the impressive family pedigree to take one look at her, decide he could do better elsewhere and walk away.
After slipping on her dress, she zipped it up, then paused. But wasn’t that the end goal? she asked herself. To do this so that they could put it behind them and never think about it again?
Delene went back into the bathroom in bare feet to run a brush through her hair. Looking at her reflection, seeing ambivalence in her eyes, she decided she was one confused woman.
Maybe she should just call this off until she got her boundaries reestablished. Better yet, maybe she should just cancel altogether. What had she been thinking, anyway?
The doorbell rang.
Too late, a little voice lamented. Or was that mocked?
Her heart went into double time.
* * *
Chapter 11
One parking space was available in guest parking when Troy pulled into Delene’s garden apartment complex. Generally not superstitious, he still felt it was a favorable omen.
Taking the bottle of wine he’d brought, he made his way to her loft apartment. Somewhere in the distance, a dog howled.
He got to her apartment and rang the bell. After a couple of beats, he shifted the brown paper-bag-wrapped bottle to the other hand and rang again. Troy had no idea exactly what to expect from tonight or from the woman who had so cavalierly invited him over. The best rule of thumb when dealing with Delene D’Angelo was to expect the unexpected.
Which was fine with him. The unexpected kept him on his toes, made life interesting. Like now. He had to admit that something about the diminutive probation agent intrigued him as well as attracted him. She had managed to draw his attention more than any other woman had in a very long time.
And there was the fact that, in a way, she reminded him of his sister and his cousins. Headstrong. Stubborn. And unwilling to bend when she thought she was right. He admired the women in his family, admired their integrity and dedication. Maybe on some level, he mused as he rang a third time, they provided him with a ruler against which he measured every other female he came in contact with. And found them wanting.
When it came to women, he was spoiled. From as far back as he could remember, he’d never lacked for female companionship. All he had to do was turn around and someone was always available, willing to spend an evening, or the night, with him.
But Delene was different.
She’d made it clear that she wasn’t interested in pursuing any sort of relationship that went beyond the confines of their professional worlds. Even tonight was about eliminating any obstacles to that professional interaction. Or so she said. She made it sound very, very clinical, like purging files from a computer to free up hard drive space.
Maybe he should have even been insulted. Yet that old excitement, that anticipation of exploring new ground, of being with a woman for the first time, pulsed through his veins as he stood here, in front of her apartment, ringing her doorbell.
Waiting to see her.
The chimes faded away. He’d rung three times now. She wasn’t answering. Had she changed her mind? Decided that her actions would bear the kind of consequences she didn’t want to deal with?
He grinned. Maybe she was nervous, though he couldn’t picture her that way. The thought added to his anticipation of the evening ahead.
Troy raised his hand again, about to ring one last time when the door swung open and she was standing in the doorway. He lowered his hand, his eyes swiftly absorbing every nuance about her.
Delene’s cheeks were just the slightest bit flushed, as if the temperature inside was too warm. Or her thoughts were. Her hair looked as if she’d used her fingers to comb it. On her, he thought, it looked good.
She was wearing what his sister liked to refer to as the classic little black dress. While the dress, which ended several inches above her knee, was not tight, it seemed to fall against every inviting curve she had.
No doubt about it, out of uniform Delene was a knockout, plain and simple.
Expect the unexpected. He clutched the bottle of wine a little tighter around the neck and smiled.
She could see herself reflected in his eyes. Good, she’d made the right choice, Delene thought, relaxing just a shade.
“You’re not breathing,” she noted.
He realized that he’d caught his breath the second he’d laid eyes on her. The moment had frozen for him. “I’m afraid if I start, you might disappear.”
“If you don’t start,” she pointed out, “you’ll black out.”
He resumed breathing, but said with a smile, “Worse ways to go.”
With the way he watched her, if she were an ice sculpture, she would have been reduced to tiny cubes. She tried to appear unaffected. “Is that one of your lines?”
“That’s an observation,” he told her, his deep voice rippling along her body. “I don’t have lines.”
She’d been in tight spots before. And survived. She had to remember that. The evening hadn’t even begun yet and she felt like she was going under. “But you do have a reputation.”
“For being honest and up front.” No one could accuse him of being otherwise. He never toyed with a woman’s heart. He regarded it as far too precious for that. He smiled at her. “You clean up very well, Agent D’Angelo.”
His smile went straight to her gut. Worse, he was likable, damn him. She didn’t want him to be likable. It was bad enough that she felt this increasingly stronger pull around him; she didn’t want to have to like him, too.
Clearing her throat, Delene looked away. Anywhere but into his eyes. “Maybe for tonight you should call me Delene.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” She could almost feel his eyes as they skimmed along her face. “I was also hoping you’d let me come in.”
“What?” She realized that she was still standing in the doorway, her body blocking the entrance. It was as if she’d just gotten mesmerized. “Oh, right, sure.” Opening the door farther, Delene stepped back, trying to deal with her embarrassment. “Come in.”
Crossing the threshold, Troy handed her the bottle of wine he’d brought. He felt red was the safest choice. “This is for you.”
She took it, glancing dubiously down on the telltale shape. For now, she placed it on the small table by the door, like a discarded afterthought.
“I already said we’d have sex, Cavan—” she stopped herself midname “—Troy,” she said with emphasis. “You don’t have to try to get me drunk.”
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